


On the Floor

by foreignobjecticus



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, GPSC zine, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignobjecticus/pseuds/foreignobjecticus
Summary: By Anonymous. Avon is injured on the flight deck and refuses treatment until certain conditions have been met.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Kudos: 2
Collections: The House Always Sins





	On the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> From the GPSC’s fanzine _**THE HOUSE ALWAYS SINS**_! Download the full fanzine [**here**](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1kX3N29d5B2Cdj3Ph00Cf8vwElL6FOPjJ/view?usp=sharing) for amazing art, great games, and fabulous filk. Join the _Gauda Prime Social Club_ Discord server [**here**](https://discord.gg/nvcHh8xTPe)!

Servalan skillfully dealt with, Vila sinks to the floor by Avon and grasps the man’s shoulder, earning a pained groan. Avon’s eyes flutter closed and he gasps, pretty red lips flushed and cheeks burning with the pain that radiates up his arm. Vila pulls his hand back like he’s been burnt, a throb of something besides guilt settling in his gut. He firmly ignores it.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks, fingers itching to reach out and remove Avon’s tunic, but he knows Avon will bite.

“My arm, obviously,” Avon answers through clenched teeth, the pain pulsing in his arm, and a few more words are spoken between them (Avon can’t recall which ones already, brain clouded with adrenaline and the merest edge of panic at the situation all around them).

A console behind them sparks and a little fire that’s yet to be extinguished by the auto repair crackles behind the sofas. Vila’s got Avon’s tunic unzipped in a moment, and very, very carefully, he eases Avon’s uninjured arm out from the sleeve, leaving give for the material to be slipped down Avon’s injured arm, but the man won’t let his limb go.

“Come on Avon, this needs to come off,” Vila coaxes gently and reaches for Avon’s hand, capturing the balled fist in his own and rubbing his thumb across Avon’s knuckles. “It won’t hurt,” he soothes, and Avon’s clenched hand relaxes until his digits are resting in Vila’s.

He lets himself be guided to stretch out his arm slowly, nerve endings searing with pain as the muscle stretches, and he grabs onto Vila’s shirt with his good hand, panting hard breaths against Vila’s chest.

“No, it’s too much. Wait,” he commands, and Vila can’t help but look at the poor man with pity.

“I know, Avon, but it has to come off so I can see—”

“In a minute!” he begs this time, voice void of fire as he succumbs to the burn of his own injury prickling his skin.

Avon’s lips are parted, tongue darting out to wet dry lips, and Vila’s torso clenches in a wave of unwelcome desire. Avon’s eyes glitter, and when he looks up into Vila’s face, a pained grin curls on his lips.

“You perverted little Delta,” he chuckles a little and gasps when Vila pulls away from his hand, jerking his injured arm.

Vila holds back a groan.

“What do you mean?” his voice is tight, and his bluff weaker than usual.

Avon reaches forward with his good hand and grabs at Vila’s crotch through his loose pants and Vila moans. He shifts his legs, letting the material across his crotch loosen enough for Avon to get a firm hold, and he bucks involuntarily at the feel of Avon’s square fingers pinching at his shaft through velvet.

“You are a bad liar,” the man on the floor grins, and his smile turns wolfish when Vila’s hands float up to dance over his waistband in readiness, but then stop.

“I need to see that arm,” Vila insists, reaching forward. Avon stops him with another cruel, teasing squeeze to the tip of his cock, now tenting the material as it swells to full hardness within his trousers.

“Avon, you need— _AH!_ ” another squeeze, and fingers are diving under Vila’s elastic waistband — lucky for Avon, with the use of only one hand — grasping hold of the hot cock within.

Vila’s eyes sink closed, and he gives himself in to the feeling of fingers wrapped around his shaft, pulling his skin up and down against rigid flesh, constrained in trousers that are definitely too tight now. Vila shifts, and when he’s balanced on the hard floor on his knees, he hooks his thumbs under his waistband and pulls, cock springing free and bouncing proud between his legs.

Despite the pain in his arm, Avon actually manages to look aroused. His own trousers are too dark and tight to tell from how he is sitting, and Vila wonders if he’s about to take advantage of Avon when the man on the floor pre-empts his hang ups. Avon cups Vila’s balls with his hand, tugging at the skin and rolling the testicles around gently, feeling their weight and the way they seem to swell, dragging his fingers over the coarse blonde hair. His fingers roam, sliding behind and then in front, circling the base of Vila’s cock and then trailing one long, slow line up the vein underneath, scratching gently with a blunt nail. Vila shivers and precum beads delicately from his slit, glistening. Avon laughs, dragging Vila back into reality when his voice is cut short by a hitch in his breath.

“I told you, you need that arm fixed first,” Vila gasps out, breathy and hardly believing his own conviction. Avon struggles to lean forwards again and this time he cries out a proper whimper. “That’s it.”

Vila pushes himself up from the floor, tugging his trousers and shoes off clumsily, and he walks across the flight deck to the medical pack tucked into the weapon’s rack wall. As he returns, Avon’s eyes are fixed on the firm cock jutting out from the Delta, his stride making it bob invitingly, and despite the look of determination in Vila’s eyes, Avon tries again to delay his healing in favour of gratification.

He licks his lips, eyes fixed on Vila’s crotch, and thrusts his hips gently into the air as much as he can while sitting.

“Forget the arm, Vila, it can wait—”

“You’re in pain—”

“So are you. That can’t be comfortable,” he quips, barely managing to hold back a tasteless line about _relieving the pressure_ , though Vila rolls his eyes as if he’s heard the silent joke anyway.

Regardless, Vila comes back with a medipatch and a stoic look plastered on his face that makes Avon want to crack it immediately.

“I’m not letting you fix my arm until you’re dealt with,” Avon threatens, but the ice in his glare is melted by the arousal bubbling in his gut.

“And I’m not doing anything to you until your arm is taken care of. You could be really injured, Avon!”

The man on the floor shrugs with what he can of his good shoulder. Vila kneels again, ready to fight to remove Avon’s tunic, but when he leans forwards, he stops abruptly and his eyes close with a deep groan, more guttural than last time. Avon tightens his grip and runs the cup of his palm over Vila’s slick head again and again, feeling the hot, smooth flesh leak as he caresses it.

“I suppose this is a stalemate then,” Avon purrs, smug in his victory, and turns his wrist to stroke Vila in long, twisting pulls that he knows will drive the Delta mad.

So he is surprised when, after a minute of gasping and thrusting, Vila suddenly stands and bats the hand from his cock. But Avon’s shock is short lived. Vila drops the medipatch to the sofa behind Avon’s head and carefully steps forward, planting his feet either side of Avon’s thighs and leaning back, his own hand stroking himself lazily before the other’s face.

Avon gulps, eyes wide, admiring the cock mere inches from his face. He parts his lips and tries to lean forward but Vila pulls back, so he winces again when his arm twinges.

“You want it?” Vila asks, a sneer making his voice hard, and Avon’s cock pulses in his trousers at the tone.

“Yes, Vila—”

“You want to suck my cock, Avon?”

“Yes, please...” he leans forward again, knowing it is a mistake but he is drawn inexorably, and cries out.

Vila drops his cock and pushes Avon’s good shoulder back against the side of the sofa hard.

“Then you’ll suck it and you’ll do as I say, alright?” he backs away and leans down.

When Avon nods wordlessly, Vila takes his lips in a greedy, hard kiss, plunging his tongue into Avon’s mouth and sucking on his bottom lip until the flesh is red and puffy. When he finally pulls back. Avon’s hair is a mess from his wandering hands and he’s panting, blotchy and groaning.

“Yes, Vila, please...” he begs voicelessly, and when Vila’s cock comes back he parts his lips willingly.

Vila guides himself into Avon’s mouth, feeling his eager tongue lapping at the vein under his cock, overwhelming him with a rough, heady sensation that has him pushing himself deeper into Avon’s throat without realising. Vila rocks back and forth, guiding his cock in just the tiniest bit deeper with every thrust, and Avon’s practised throat flutters and relaxes, letting Vila fit himself into the snug warmth between Avon’s throat and tongue.

When Vila opens his eyes, he can see Avon straining to fit him in, his throat gulping in time with the flutters he feels on the tip of his cock, and when he reaches down to wrap his fingers around Avon’s neck, the bulge is unmistakable.

“Good,” he gasps out and barely manages to stop himself bucking when Avon sucks him hard, the moment of heavenly pressure dragging him closer to the edge he is already rushing towards. But he tenses, pulls himself away and out from the back of Avon’s throat long enough to regain his thinning control.

Avon’s arm is still sitting straight against his thigh where Vila left it, his good hand kneading the back of Vila’s soft thigh, fingers skirting the crease between his cheeks where he feels hot and sweaty already. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts of Avon’s fingers delving deeper and leans down, stomach folding awkwardly on himself to reach Avon’s shoulder and the cuff of his tunic. Avon realises what he’s doing and his stretched lips around Vila’s cock manage a twisted sort of grin as he obliges and lets Vila begin pulling the tunic from his arm.

And it _hurts_.

Avon gasps with the sensation of the material rubbing against his skin, and then he’s choking on Vila’s cock and pulling away with a cry of pain, saliva trailing between his lips and the swollen appendage rubbing obscenely against his cheek, wet and pulsing.

“It has to come off—” Vila’s voice is a growl, and Avon snaps back with a choked splutter that tells him yes, he knows.

“Do it faster then,” Avon coughs once more and swallows his spit, soothing the aching gag in the back of his throat.

When he’s recovered, he turns his head and takes Vila’s weeping cock back carefully, sucking greedily on the top few inches, a steady, constant pressure that feels as if it’s drawing the cum straight from Vila’s balls. They tighten in response, and his cock pulses, twitches, swells a little more, forcing Avon’s jaw open as Vila slides himself back in. While he’s distracting Avon, Vila grabs the cuff of his tunic once again, fingers wrapped tight, the shoulder free of the material. He rocks himself back and forth in Avon’s mouth, savouring the building tension aching within him, crawling up from his gut and making his thighs tense and shake. And Avon takes it all, spreading his lips, mouth open wide, throat relaxing and letting salty cock glide deep within where it pushes back and forth, tighter, harder, faster, lips sucking, teeth grazing ever so gently, balls soft against Avon’s smooth chin, nose pressed to Vila’s crotch, Vila’s hand in Avon’s sweaty, messy hair, holding him, thrusting, tensing, pulsing—

“G-AGHHH!”

Avon screams as white hot needles of pain shoot through his nerve endings and the tunic is torn from his arm. Vila pulls himself out of Avon’s throat for the sake of preserving his poor cock, and he cums hard across Avon’s open, gasping mouth and tongue, dripping from his lips and leaving hot wet stains across his black shirt.

Vila’s own steady hand wrings the final drops from his softening cock, and when he finally comes down, still panting like he’s run a race, Avon is clutching his arm, wincing, and guilt floods Vila like the seed that flooded Avon’s face, now wiped off carelessly on the hem of his shirt.

“Hold still—” Vila commands, a twinge of panic laced with lingering pleasure that turns his voice soft and hurried in equal measure.

In a few moments Avon’s shirt is unbuttoned and slipped from his arm (painful, less so) revealing the red burned skin of an energy rifle’s blast. Red marks zigzag up Avon’s arm in a pattern that spreads with the tendons and sinews beneath. Nasty, but fixable.

A few passes over of the medipatch is all Avon needs to take the edge off the stinging, burning sensation, and by the time the device is used up, his arm is still red, but there is no pain.

When Vila drops to his bare arse beside Avon, he lets out a relieved sigh and claps a hand lightly to the other man’s thigh.

“Would have been easier if you’d just let me look at you without knocking you about.” He laughs a little and rubs his hand up Avon’s lean thigh.

When a hand gathers his and places it against the obvious bulge in his trousers, Vila arches an eyebrow and grins a little.

“You up for it after all that?” he asks, trying to remember if he’s supposed to call Avon a sadist or a masochist, but then Avon’s trousers are split open at the fly and Vila’s hand is being made to wrap around the cock jutting from the tight leather, and he doesn’t really care what the right word is anymore.

He pumps Avon instead in long, firm strokes, trying to go from the base of his cock buried below the tight band of leather, hand a little clumsy in his eagerness. But Avon’s moaning and his long white throat is stretched out for Vila like an offering, so he latches on, sucking the sensitive skin and biting tiny little nibbles up and down the ridge of Avon’s throat while he pumps harder, tightening his hand, keeping up a rhythm that beats with the rocking of Avon’s hips, feeling his cock begin to leak in his hand. His own member stirs a little at the sight of Avon, half naked, sweating, red skin and flushed with pain and pleasure, but it’s too soon, so he focusses his efforts into his tight fist and clever fingers, squeezing the head until Avon’s practically mindless, open mouth is seeking for Vila’s lips.

He pulls the Delta down by his tunic, submitting to Vila’s stronger tongue and blunt teeth worrying his lip, sucking, kissing, drawing the breath from his lungs as his cock pulses and swells on the edge of release before cum shoots from him, a sweet ecstasy releasing from his body. All the tension and pain drains from his muscles as he melts into Vila’s arms, held through the last shivers of orgasm.

Eventually, Vila lets him go and stands on shaky legs to pull him to his feet by his good arm. There’s talk of a trip to the medical bay still, and something about cleaning the flight deck and disposing of soiled clothes, but Avon is too lost to listen anymore. He allows himself to be drawn away by Vila, head against the other man’s shoulder, and away to the silent night time corridors of the ship.


End file.
